


Dangerous Thing

by commas_and_ampersands



Series: Minako in Thedas [1]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 09:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4871248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commas_and_ampersands/pseuds/commas_and_ampersands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen Rutherford, meet Minako Aino - senshi, saarebas, dangerous thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cullen sighed over the reports, sorting through the issues he could attend to himself and the ones that needed to be shown to Lavellan. Predictably, the latter pile quickly outweighed the former, and Lavellan wasn’t due back from the Hinterlands until the end of the week. It seemed the Herald was forever in the hills surrounding Redcliffe doing what they’d asked and spreading the Inquisition’s influence. Reports detailed her closing rifts, finding food for hungry refugees, and, if Varric could be believed, leading a lost Druffalo home.

Other than a quick detour the Storm Coast to recruit the Iron Bull, the Herald had spent the better part of these few months in the area. Lavellan seemed intent on routing all possible problems in the Hinterlands (including an improbable number of bears) before deciding to approach the mages or the templars for help. Privately Cullen assumed she was all but settled on the mages and simply dreaded telling Cassandra.

And him, he knew. He was a templar no longer, but Lavellan still seemed frightened of him. It was nothing he wasn’t used to, though it still stung. He was a grown man; he could cope with not being well-regarded. He simply wished there was a way to reassure Lavellan he was not going to hurt her. But how could he? How did he have any hope of convincing her that a templar, particularly one who had served in Kirkwall, meant her no harm? Especially when even a few years earlier, he would not have felt that way.

Maker, if he could go back and shake his younger self, he would.

Cullen was beginning to think it might be prudent to let the Herald know choosing the mages would not upset him. It concerned him; there was no question of that. He questioned the wisdom of pouring more magic into the mark, something they scarcely understood. The first attempt at sealing the Breach had left Lavellan unconscious for days; even if she had greater control now, who could say what would happen with more magic channeled through her body? Suppressing the magic of the Breach seemed the safer course.

And if Cullen was perfectly honest with himself, he would have liked the symbolism of the Templar Order aiding the Inquisition to heal the sky. Leliana and Josephine joked over his lack of political acumen, but he wasn’t completely hopeless. He knew future historians would look at the events that shook the world (which happened with truly alarming frequency) and see a pattern. The Warden Queen had saved the mages in Kinloch Hold; Hawke had supported her fellow mages in Kirkwall. He could admit now that they had been right to do so. And he supposed it was right to rescue the mages from the clutches of a Tevinter magister, even if they had created the mess themselves.

But just because he had left the order didn’t mean he wanted history to remember them poorly. He wanted to believe there was something worth salvaging there, that nearly twenty years of his life hadn’t been poured into something inherently wrong. In the end, however, it was out of his hands. And given that Lavellan could barely look him in the eye, asking her to walk into a templar stronghold and negotiate with the lot of them seemed too much to ask.

Cullen rubbed at the ache that had taken up permanent residence at the back of his neck, turning back to his paperwork. Most of it would have to wait, but he could act on the information Leliana’s scouts had gathered on the Blades of Hessarian. They were almost certainly responsible for the deaths of their agents in the region, but intelligence suggested that removing their leader could bring them under the Inquisition’s sway. Mercenary bands knew one another’s reputations, and while Bull was out with Lavellan in the field, the Tevinter second-in-command would be just as informed.

Cullen walked from the training area towards the smithy, pausing only to correct a new recruit’s footwork and take another half dozen reports from Leliana’s people. He was struggling to reshuffle the papers into something resembling an orderly pile when he heard a familiar, if unexpected, laugh boom. 

“You should have seen it, Krem!” Bull thundered, gesturing broadly in spite of the company healer, Stitches, tending to a wound on the Qunari’s back.

“I’m sure you’ll paint a bloody enough picture for me to enjoy it now, Chief,” Krem said wryly.

“There we were, making our way towards the fortress. But you know Solas just taught the Boss that Fade Stepping trick, so now instead of just jumping off ledges when she gets impatient, she flies off them.” He rolled his eyes. “Mages. Anyway, off she goes, and of course, what happens? She lands right on top of a group of mercenaries.”

“Not a bear this time?” Krem asked, nodding towards Cullen in greeting.

Bull glowered. “As a matter of fact, the mercenaries were fighting the bear. Which I was about to get to, if you wouldn’t jump ahead all the time.”

“Sorry, Chief,” Krem said, not even a little apologetic.

Interested to hear why Bull and the Herald were back early and suspecting it wasn’t just because of the wildlife, Cullen interjected, “I suppose that rather puts a damper on Varric’s theory that the bears are attracted to Cassandra.”

Bull laughed again, throwing his head back. Stitches deftly avoided a collision with a practiced, but much put upon, dodge. “That’s exactly what he said! Well, not exactly, but you get the point. So there’s the Boss and the bear fight and eight of those mercenary bastards....”

Bull continued the story for the next ten minutes, describing each kill with a bloody-minded enthusiasm that made Cullen grateful Bull was more or less on their side. He took particular care in describing how satisfying it had been to cleave his axe into the rogue who was responsible for the knife wounds in his back. Lavellan had frozen the mercenary first, and Bull looked positively euphoric recounting how there was nothing left of that man but frozen, reddish chunks.

Then Bull drooped a bit, and Cullen suspected they were arriving at the explanation for their earlier return. “And then shit got weird.”

“Shocking twist, that,” Stitches muttered.

“Too right,” Krem chuckled.

But Bull didn’t laugh. He just shook his head at Cullen and said, “Commander, I’ve gotta tell you, after today, I’m really glad I don’t have your job.”

Cullen felt at least half of his migraines could be attributed to sentences like that one. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“No, you’re really not.” Bull winced, though that probably had more to do with the healer sewing the wound at his back than whatever he was about to say. “So the damn bear is dead, finally, and we realize there’s only seven dead mercenaries, not eight. And Boss isn’t about to let him go, so she tracks him to this cave.”

“Not more bears?” Krem asked incredulously.

“Ha! For once, no. Instead, there’s the mercenary getting his ass handed to him by this blond… girl, really, and a rift opening up behind them.”

It said a lot about the world they’re living in that Cullen can tell the green hole in the world with demons pouring out of it is not what Bull meant about weird shit. “I’m supposed to be concerned about a girl fighting off a mercenary?”

“You’re supposed to be concerned about _how_ the girl was fighting,” Bull grumbled. “Not the mercenary. That was normal. Impressive, a lot of unnecessary flipping, but normal. But then she helped us close the rift, and _that’s_ the specific moment shit got weird.”

“All right, so… how was she fighting?”

“Do you know any Qunlat?”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at the sudden subject change, but didn’t remark on it. Bull wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important – if it didn’t offer some clarity to the situation. “A little from my time in Kirkwall. Probably less than I should.”

“Then you know our word for mages?”

“…Saar…Saarebas?”

Bull snorted. “Your pronunciation’s fucked, but yeah. Not saying she’s a mage though. Don’t know what the fuck she is.” Bull’s frown deepened. “I’ve never seen anyone fight like that. Me. Not even in Seheron. Thought I’d seen everything in Seheron. Seems I missed a trick or two after all.” Bull’s eyes took on a cloudy, far-away look for a moment that Cullen recognized. Krem and Stitches did as well judging by the sudden straightness of their posture. But a moment later, Bull shook his head as if to dislodge old battle memories. It wouldn’t work; it never did. But sometimes pretending it would helped. “Anyway, I’m going for a literal translation here.”

“Which is?”

“Dangerous thing.”

Cullen and the others waited for Bull to elaborate on the subject, but it seemed the Qunari was done with the discussion. A moment later, Stitches announced the wounds were fixed up, and Bull began walking towards the tavern. The healer followed him, lecturing him on how not to reopen the wounds though it was obvious to all of them that the advice would go unheeded.

“Well then,” Krem announced, clapping Cullen awkwardly on the shoulder. “Have fun with your Saarewhatever.”

Cullen caught a movement out of the corner of his eye – a runner heading straight for him. “I rather suspect I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, this is still happening.
> 
> I was going to post this all as one chapter, but it felt like it would work better split into parts. As of right now, I think I can wrap up this installment in two more parts.
> 
> And my apologies that this is heavy on the exposition. I'm almost certainly going to be writing separate fics solely focusing on my Lavellan where it'll be less telling, more showing where her relationship with Cullen (along with everything else about her) is concerned, but that's for another time.


	2. Chapter 2

After Cullen deposited the newly accumulated reports in his quarters, he made his way to the chantry and the back room they had commandeered for the Inquisition’s operations.  Enchanter Vivienne was in attendance, a fact that immediately set his teeth on edge.  Madame de Fer made him profoundly uncomfortable.  She tended to look at Cullen not as Commander of the Inquisition’s forces but Knight-Captain in her Circle of one.

Then there was Bull’s ‘dangerous thing.’

She was around Lavellan’s height, perhaps an inch or two taller, and nearly as thin.  She was not, however, an elf, and her slightness spoke more to sudden and unexpected poverty rather than a natural tendency.  Her skin sagged around hollowed cheeks in a way that he had become all too familiar with since the Conclave.  Until very recently, she’d had regular access to food and shelter and the loss of it had not been kind.

She’d clearly been given time to wash the worst of the blood and dust from her person, but the cloying scent of old sweat and demonic ichor still clung.  She also hadn’t been given a change of clothes, so she still wore mismatched, scavenged leathers.  He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; comfort rarely ranked highly in Cassandra’s priorities, if it all.  In truth, given Bull’s obvious discomfort with the stranger’s abilities, it was surprising the girl hadn’t been bound for safety’s sake.  Though if Cassandra had put forth the suggestion, Lavellan most likely overruled it.

She had a number of makeshift bandages wound around her limbs, the most obvious being the scrap or red tied around her left forearm.  It had an unexpected sheen, and he vividly recalled Rosalie reaching up to be held, her twin braids tied off with periwinkle.  She’d bandaged herself with hair ribbon.

Her hair itself was pulled into a slapdash tail that reached her lower back, a matted mess and as Bull had said, would probably be blond as his own once the filth was scrubbed away.  She could lose two feet of it and it would still reach well past her shoulder blades.

Her eyes were like glass, like the edge of a blue vitriol blade, like Rosalie’s ribbons.  There were three recent scars underneath her right eye, claw marks.

She was beautiful.

And like every beautiful woman he had ever known (many of whom surrounded him even now), she could probably kill him with a gesture.  He might not have known that without Bull’s warning, but he could hardly forget it now.  Nor could he forget Varric gleefully torturing Cullen with his own history on the ship from Kirkwall.  Cullen had been too ill to protest.

_“No, seriously, think about it,” Varric had said in a far friendlier tone than Cullen warranted.  “You started with the Hero of Ferelden, gorgeous Warden-Queen saving you during the Blight.  Then you meet Hawke and Merrill and Isabela.  Do we count Meredith?  Shit, let’s count Meredith; why not?  The Seeker, but you’d better take that one to your grave.  Nightingale.  Probably this ambassador we’re meeting at the Conclave.  I gotta tell you, Curly, beautiful women are hazardous to your health.”_

_“But not yours?” Cullen had groaned from over the railing._

_“Of course not.  Bianca will protect me, and she’s downright gorgeous.”_

Cullen didn’t want to think too much on the dwarf’s inclusion of his former Knight-Commander, nor had he volunteered information about Surana.  Varric turned out to be right about Josephine, and neither of them had even met Lavellan or Vivienne yet.  But it occurred to Cullen that once this meeting was over, he was like as not to find Varric sidling up to him and asking, “So, think this one will be the death of you?”

The stranger smiled, every inch of it a dangerous, wicked thing, and a traitorous part of his brain answered, ‘probably.’

“Ah, Commander, good.  Then we’re just waiting on Solas,” Cassandra said, her tone more dour than usual.  Cullen wondered if Solas’s absence or the stranger’s presence curdled her mood more.

Lavellan tensed and repositioned herself so the stranger stood between her and Cullen.  He wondered if Lavellan saw the newcomer as an acceptable loss or if she truly trusted him that little.

Cullen took another step back from her and resolved to try and assuage her fears about choosing the mages over the Templars.  Her fears surrounding him were probably unassailable at this point.  “My apologies, Cassandra.  I hope you all have not been waiting long.”

Cassandra just grunted and folded her arms, glaring at the stranger.  It was obvious the Seeker had been doing so since first encountering her in the Hinterlands.

“Well, _I’ve_ certainly been waiting a lifetime for you to walk into my life,” the stranger leered.  It was nothing compared to the looks Isabela had given him the few times their paths had crossed, but Cullen felt his cheeks heat.  “And you can command me any time.”

Cassandra’s noise of disgust almost covered Josephine and Leliana’s laughter.

“Hey, if you’re going to kill me, I’m going out as I lived: flirting with all the pretty people.”  She gave the Seeker a particularly lascivious look.

“No one is going to kill you,” Lavellan said, speaking over Cassandra’s snarling.  Cullen didn’t miss the way Lavellan’s eyes slid over to him, to the casual grip on his sword.  He felt very tired.  “You have my word on that.”

The stranger moved back, almost skipping, and perched on the edge of the war table.  She picked up one of the operation markers and tossed it between her hands.  “Oddly enough, all of the swords in the room are not making me feel more secure on that point.”

“There are only two!” Cassandra snapped.

“Two more than I’d like.”  She adjusted the grip on the marker, one of his of course, and he blushed again.  Josephine’s decision to have the war operations marked with fists had obviously been grossly misjudged.  “Unless we’re talking metaphorically—"

“What is taking that runner so long?!” Cassandra burst out, snatching the marker back and slamming it back onto the map where it belonged.  “I get enough of this inane prattle from Varric.”

“Do you realize that’s the third time you’ve brought him up since you sent him and Horny Dave away?”

“Horny… Dave?” Josephine asked, appropriately horrified.

“Yeah.  Dude with the horns.”  The stranger stretched her arms out from her head in a vague approximation of Bull’s (as he termed it) rack.  “It’s his name.  I’ve decided.”

“And _nicknames_ ,” Cassandra growled.

“Which unless I miss my guess is number four,” the stranger continued in a stunning lack of self-preservation.  “Word of advice: I find making out with the guy is the best cure for mentionitus when it’s this bad.”

Cullen began to think that even the Herald of Andraste would be unable to stop Cassandra from committing murder.  Luckily, the door opened and Solas strolled in, his manner purposeful yet unhurried.  “I was told you required my assistance, Seeker.”

“Finally!” Cassandra hissed.  She rounded fully on the stranger.  “You.  Talk.  Now.”

The stranger frowned, shaking her head.  “Really?  You’re ending on the egg?  Anti-climactic, but hey, it’s your meeting.”

Solas’s eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly, but otherwise, he made no remark.

The stranger tucked her legs up underneath her, still sitting on the war table.  This time her movements didn’t upset any of the pieces, so perhaps her death wish was not as profound as Cullen had assumed.  “Where exactly do you want me to start?”

“Personally, I find introductions are an excellent jumping off point in any social interaction,” Vivienne said, eyeing the stranger with growing suspicion and distaste.

“I quite agree!” the stranger answered.  Something about the curve of her lips seemed sharper now, as if her ever-present smile was a baring of teeth.  “But given that I remain either your guest or your prisoner, it seemed the responsibility was yours.  Was I mistaken?”

Prisoner or guest indeed, she’d clearly gone up in Madame de Fer’s estimation, however minutely.

“I thought it would be best to save time and wait until all were assembled,” Josephine said, sweeping into the conversation like a much needed breath of fresh air.  “You have already met Seeker Penteghast and Lady Lavellan.”

The Herald grimaced.  “Athehris is fine.”

“As you say,” Josephine said, although Cullen had no doubt she would continue to append the title to the Herald’s name.  The ambassador continued around the room, introducing everyone at length.  By the end of it, the stranger’s pale eyes had glazed over somewhat.

“And your name?” Josephine prompted.

The stranger frowned, considering, but shrugged a beat later.  “I guess there’s no harm in it here.  Aino—ah, Minako Aino.”

“There are circumstances in which you would not want to give your name?” Leliana asked, probably less intrigued by that notion and more that Minako would admit it aloud.

“Most of them.”

Vivienne said, “Herald, darling, loathe as I am to question your wisdom in asking Solas and myself to consult on some arcane matter, I do believe it would benefit us all if we came around to the point of these proceedings.”

“I know,” Lavellan said, worrying at the ends of her braid.  “It’s just… a bit hard to explain.”

“So show, don’t tell,” Minako quipped.  “Anybody got a bit of metal on them?”

Cassandra frowned.  “Metal?”

“Simplest way I can think of.”

Before the group could be sidetracked further, Cullen dug into his pocket and fished out a copper.  “Will this do?” he asked, tossing it in her direction.

It stopped in mid-air.

“Apparently,” she said.

Cullen immediately stiffened.  He still did not appreciate sudden, casual displays of magic like this, but something about this felt… off.  He couldn’t place the subtle wrongness of the floating coin, but still, it set his teeth on edge.

Solas and Vivienne’s reactions were as instantaneous as they were dissimilar.  Solas drew closer to the hovering coin, studying it intensely, while Vivienne took a large step back and glared at Minako with renewed fervor.  “What are you?” she demanded.

“That is what we brought her here to determine,” Cassandra said grimly.

“Fascinating,” Solas murmured.  “You are not using force to manipulate the object.  And you asked for metal.  This was necessary?”

“You mean could I float a baby hamster?  No.”

Cullen frowned.  She wasn’t using force magic?  And she obviously wasn’t using wind, so what was she using?

That’s when he realized why the magic felt wrong.  It didn’t feel like magic at all.

“You’re not manipulating the Fade,” Cullen breathed.

Minako shrugged.  “No idea what that means, but that’s what this one said before attacked me.”

“I attempted to dispel you,” Cassandra corrected.  Her glower deepened.  “It didn’t work.”

Cullen’s hand tightened reflexively on his sword.  Magic unconnected to the Fade?  That couldn’t be dispelled by a Seeker’s, and presumably a Templar’s, abilities?  That was something Cullen hadn’t thought of in any of nightmares.

“Some new form of demon, perhaps?” Vivienne hissed.

Solas scoffed.  “Madame Enchanter, no creature of the Fade could sunder itself from its home so thoroughly.  It would be like water gaining the ability to dry or lightening a load by adding weight.”

“A mage with no connection to the Fade is equally impossible, apostate, and yet here one stands,” Vivienne said.  “Or so she would have us believe.”

“She hasn’t led us to believe anything.  She has merely shown us of what she is capable.”

“I’m right here, guys,” Minako said.  The coin leapt forward into her hand as if Cullen had just thrown it.

“That is not all she’s capable of,” Cassandra muttered.  “You didn’t—I’ve never seen abilities like hers.”

“You have not heard of anything either?” Vivienne asked.  “The Seekers surely would know of a mage who could not be dispelled.”

Solas sneered.  “Are you so certain, Madame Enchanter?  I think it more likely they would have killed her on sight and resolved never to speak of such a phenomenon, lest others try to emulate her.”

“I should hardly think they’d advertise the fact of her existence at all,” Vivienne countered.

“Large organizations do not guard secrets well.”

“Another lesson learned in dreaming?”

“A lesson dreams did not need to teach.”

Lavellan’s sharp whistle cut through the air, silencing Vivienne’s retort in her mouth.  Once she was certain she had all their attention, the Herald turned back to Minako.

Minako still smiled, but now he was certain: she was definitely baring teeth.  It occurred to Cullen that beyond the small but earth-shattering demonstration with the coin, only Cassandra and Lavellan knew what Minako could do.  Even then, it had only been one fight, demons pouring out of rift, and they had been tired from previous trials.  Whatever she could do, it had actually frightened the Seeker and unsettled Lavellan enough for her to agree to transport Minako here, guest and prisoner.  For all Cullen knew, she could slaughter them all.  Cullen wondered how quickly he could get Josephine out of the line of fire, decided that was best left to Leliana, and focused on how best to extricate the Herald.

“Do I still have your word?” Minako asked

“You do.”

“Whatever that’s worth.”

It was Lavellan’s turn to look amused.  “You’d be surprised.”

He felt the next few moments stretch out too long, balanced on a razor's edge.

Minako said, “There’s only one moon where I come from.”

It was not the way he had expected to fall.  “What?” Cullen asked.

“You don’t know what I am,” Minako said.  “I’m not sure how to explain it to you because I don’t know what I am _here_.  The place… the world I come from, there’s only one moon.”  She paused and laughed, a private joke.  “Well, only one in the sky anyway.”

Although no one knew quite what to say to that for some time, Solas recovered first.  “Then you are a very long way from home.”

Cullen expected her to laugh at that, because she seemed to laugh at everything.  Instead, she wrapped a hand around the red ribbon bandage, digging her fingers into the fabric.

“I really am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the portion of our evening where I over-explain what I just wrote because I am incapable of not doing so.
> 
> 1) Sera is still around in this fic. Cullen doesn't include her on his list of 'pretty ladies with the ability to kill me' because I doubt Cullen finds her attractive. I also doubt Sera wants Cullen to find her attractive. I'm sure he still thinks highly of her ability to kill him though, which is what she'd prefer anyway.
> 
> 2) The Hero of Ferelden is indeed a female Cousland who married her boyfriend, actual human puppy Alistair Theirin. However, I feel reasonably confident the other potential Wardens existed. For this story, there was a female Surana at Kinloch Hold, and Cullen had a super inappropriate crush on her. He never acted on it, she died, and we are all very sad that Duncan wasn't more efficient in his recruiting efforts. This will probably come up again, so I just want to be clear that Cullen and Surana don't have A History.
> 
> 3) I headcanon that Minako can manipulate small bits of metal as you see here. This is particularly useful when she's digging around for change or when she has to stop a bullet. If she was in better shape, she probably could have done something flashier, which would be her preference, but she's tired and starving and no amount of pretty Templars can pep her up enough for that.
> 
> And that's part 2! Thanks to everyone who is interested in this strange little universe I'm exploring. You are all lovely little dewdrops on roses, whiskers on kittens, warm woolen mittens, etc.


	3. Chapter 3

The story, such as it was, came out in fits and starts with constant interruptions from Solas.  According to Minako, she had been fighting her own battles in another world.  The particulars, she claimed, were irrelevant.  They (whoever ‘they’ were) had been in the midst of what would have been the final fight, one way or another, when there was an explosion, pale and blinding.  Then something twisted the white to green – like the rifts and the Breach and the sickened scar on the Herald’s palm.

She’d woken up under a torn sky with two moons.

Initially, she’d stayed near Redcliffe but decided to move further into the Hinterlands as the villagers grew increasingly frightened.  The arrival of the magisters (which Minako had misheard as ‘bannisters,’ leading her to believe the town had developed an irrational terror of stairs) made them increasingly wary of strangers.  And before the arrival of the Inquisition, there had been very little in the way of useful information.  She’d settled near the villa for easy access to food stolen from bandits who had undoubtedly stolen it themselves.  The rift where the Herald had found her had begun to bleed open only days before.  Minako had encountered them before and stayed close by to warn others off and fight any demons that slipped through.  Then the bandit had stumbled in, Lavellan on his heels, the mark’s presence awakening the rift.  Now she was here.

Details were scarce and undoubtedly kept secret when they were available.  However, it was Madame de Fer who voiced what truly bothered him about Minako’s version of events.

“I must say, my dear, you seem remarkably nonchalant about your circumstances,” Vivienne commented.  “I can hardly imagine myself in your shoes – for any number of reasons – but I should think I’d be somewhat more disturbed by finding myself in a completely foreign land.  Or another world, as you maintain.”

Minako laughed.  She seemed to reach for it as the natural response regardless of circumstance.  “Believe me – or don’t, because you won’t because you _can’t_ – this is so far from the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”  She paused.  “That award probably goes to the demon circus ruled over by an evil queen who ate mirrors made from dreams.”

“Why?” Solas asked, the prospect apparently horrifying.

“Revenge on a dead woman.”  She frowned.  “Or to fight wrinkles?  Maybe they’re pleasantly crunchy, I don’t know.”

Cullen had no idea how this hadn’t given him a migraine yet.

“We must discuss this amongst ourselves,” Cassandra announced abruptly.  She marched over to the door and threw it open, gesturing one of the guards forward.  She selected a Templar even though his abilities would be useless against Minako.  “Corporal Martell will see you are taken care of.”

“Will he now?” Minako asked.  The flirtation was obvious (nearly _constant_ ), but Cullen also did not miss how her stance shifted ever so slightly.  She prepared to fight or flee if given any indication that Lavellan’s promise of protection would not be honored.

“He will,” Cullen said brusquely.  He didn’t think Martell was interested in women, but Cullen preferred to err on the side of caution.  “Food and lodgings.  Quartermaster Threnn should be able to direct you to an empty cabin and anything else the lady—"

She cooed, “Oh my god, you’re adorable.”

“—should require.”

“A bath,” Minako announced, all but pirouetting towards the door.  “The _lady_ requires a bath.  Possibly seven.”  She linked arms with the corporal as if she was doing the escorting.  He looked terrified.  “Have fun deciding what to do with me!  Though I have a few ideas on that myself.  Like for instance—"

Cassandra shut the door in her face mid-eyebrow waggle.

“Rude!”

“ _Ugh_.”

Minako blew a raspberry from the other side of the door and then marched off, prattling at poor Martell all the while.

“Well,” Josephine said after a few moments.  “That was certainly… bracing.”

“Not the word I would have used,” Cassandra said.  “Please tell me that we are not going to give her entirely free reign to wander.”

“I will have one of my agents keep an eye on her,” Leliana soothed.  “She will be watched at a distance.”

“And I’ll see at least one guard accompanies her everywhere,” Cullen said.  “Though I suspect that corporal will be begging me for reassignment by day’s end.”

“You may consider promoting him if he lasts longer,” Leliana teased.

“There’s a notion.”

Vivienne stared at them both incredulously.  “You’re not serious?”

“You have a concern, Madame Vivienne?” Josephine asked.

“I have innumerable concerns,” Vivienne said.  “We still don’t know what she is or what she intends.  No amount of Templar guards will be able to counter her abilities.  And you propose no true countermeasures?”

“If you have a better idea, I for one am all ears,” Cassandra said.

“The dungeon, for one.”

“Ah, yes,” Solas said.  “The dungeon.  With its steel bars and metal locks.  I wonder how long that would hold her.  A minute?  Perhaps two?”

Vivienne visibly stiffened.  “If that is the case, then perhaps our Herald’s offer of protection—"

“Stands,” Lavellan interrupted.  Vivienne had a reputation as a lady of iron will, but under the Herald’s suddenly unforgiving gaze, it was easy to remember that iron made a weak weapon.

Vivienne paused and then inclined her head with just the right amount of deference and no more.  “As you say, my dear.”

“I do,” Lavellan said.  “Unless Minako attacks openly, she is not to be harmed.”

“Do you find that likely?” Leliana asked.

“I really don’t,” Lavellan said.  “She…. You didn’t see her in the field.  The demons started coming, and she never hesitated.  She finished off the mercenary and then dove right in.”  She paused.  “Well, cartwheeled right in.”

“She was helpful,” Cassandra admitted grudgingly.  “And she didn’t turn on us when the rift was closed, though I believe she wanted to.”

“‘Horny Dave’ scared her,” Lavellan explained, trying not to smile.

Cassandra rolled her eyes.

“I do find it odd that she was not found at the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Solas said.  “Although her memory seems as scarred as your own, and she cannot account for her whereabouts with any true clarity.”

“You’re assuming she’s not purposefully withholding information,” Vivienne said.

“‘Should have spun a story,’” Athehris murmured, a fond smile on her face.  Solas chuckled while Cassandra scowled at them both.  Sensing the others’ confusion, Lavellan explained, “It’s what Varric said to me, after I told him I couldn’t remember what happened at the Conclave.  Liars tell stories, fill in details.  She didn’t give us any.”

“And she certainly had time to form them on her journey here,” Cassandra said.  “Yes, I do take your point.  I do not trust her, but I take your point.”

“Trust is earned, not freely given.  She has enough of mine for now.”

The Herald’s words carried the heft of finality, and though there was much more to be said and decided, it would wait.

As Martell only lasted a few hours in Minako’s company, Cullen’s work was undoubtedly cut out for him.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t see her again for the better part of three days.  Haven was small, but full to bursting with pilgrims, volunteers, and refugees, so it didn’t surprise him that one new arrival disappeared in the throng.

Well, not disappeared.  Cullen didn’t see her, but he heard more than enough.  The Herald’s decision to let Minako stay, guarded but relatively unfettered, sent ripples through the settlement like a stone dropped in a still pond.  Though not a stone so much as a boulder the size of a giant’s head and more tidal waves than ripples.

Mercifully, she wasn’t destructive.  Just disruptive.  Yet in one moment when charity had fled, when the longing for lyrium ached, when the possibility of sleep eluded him thanks to the certainty of nightmares, he wished she were destructive.  That would have given him the excuse to insist she be dealt with as a prisoner.  Then she could be contained.  Somehow.  In theory.  But he could not justify locking someone up simply because they took a cheerful war hammer to routine.

It seemed Minako had gone a long way towards earning Lavellan’s trust in a matter of days.  Leliana’s agent had observed the pair meeting privately that very first night.  Stories had been swapped, hair had been braided, and by the next morning, Athehris maintained that they could relax around Minako.  They all knew it wouldn’t happen, but the Herald obviously felt better for having said it.

Varric had announced his acceptance of Minako in his usual fashion: with a nickname.  He’d called her Goldie, and that was the end of it.  It didn’t surprise Cullen in the slightest.  Even if Minako was lying or mistaken about where she came from, Varric was a storyteller.  Minako had a story, perhaps a hundred stories.  Varric would pull each one from her, and somehow, it would be a kindness.

Magic frightened Sera, but Minako didn’t.  Cullen wondered if it might have been different if she had actually seen the fight.  He had read over the others’ accounts at least six times and listened to Varric’s embellished account twice.  Yet Cullen still couldn’t wrap his head around it.  No amount of Cassandra’s dire warnings could make the image of Minako flinging golden hearts around sound particularly frightening.  Sera just saw a girl who liked to laugh, a flirt, a fellow rogue.  Sera’d decided she’d hit her head and just needed another good wallop or something to snap out of it.

Even Bull’s uneasiness had faded.  He’d spoken at length with her, a conversational interrogation if ever there was one, and decided she wasn’t lying.  If she’d had something like Ben-Hassrath training to mask facial cues and unconscious tells, he couldn’t spot it.  He didn’t think she seemed crazy either, and Cullen supposed maddening was not technically the same as crazy.

When Cullen continued to profess disbelief, Bull had shrugged over his comically large tankard and said, “There’s a giant fucking hole in the sky.  Some pretty Vint says you can travel through time now for some kind of half-assed evil recruitment drive.  And supposedly the only way to fix it all is a Dalish elf who picked up a magical green hand in the damned Fade.  What’s one more impossible thing?

Having no counterargument, Cullen had drank.

When he finally saw her again, he was hungover and inspecting the status of the trebuchets.  The men he’d assigned to build the siege engines paid no mind to Minako twirling on the tied stack of wooden beams.  She’d lost about a foot of her hair.  A splash of red stood out among the gold, a scrap of lustrous cotton nicked from the fabric stores and repurposed as another hair ribbon.  She’d been given some of Sera’s cast-offs if the plaidweave was any indication.

There was no sign of the escort he’d assigned her.  This struck him as inevitable.

“What did you do to him?” he asked, forgoing pleasantries.  He put this down to not wanting to be pleasant, and perhaps wanting very much to be _un_ pleasant.

She blinked and resembled nothing so much as the most chaste and innocent of Chantry sisters.  “Why, Commander, whoever do you mean?”

“Lady Aino—"

“Okay, no.”  She sounded sincerely appalled and so the way remained unsmoothed.  “Seriously, no.  There is not enough ‘no’ in the world for me to express how much you need to not do that ever again.  I mean, it was cute the first time, or maybe your face just made me not mind that much, but seriously.  Minako or Mina.  ‘Lady Anything’ is just… very no.”

“Minako, then,” he sighed.

“Ooh, you know I get a nice little tingle in some parts when you say my name,” she informed him with a wink.  She bounced off the beams and landed far too close to him.  “Do it again.”

He felt his face redden and took several giant steps back.  He held his arms out in front of him as if to stop an advancing predator.  “You – listen, i-it’s been a very long day—"

“It’s not even midday,” she laughed.  How was she always laughing?

“Just tell me what horrible thing you’ve done to Knight-Lieutenant Harley, please.”

After a moment, she decided to take pity on him.  “I haven’t done anything to the man.”

The look Cullen gave her could not possibly demonstrate the depth of his disbelief.

“I didn’t!” she insisted.  “The only thing I did was ensure that the power of love carried the day.”

Cullen silently prayed to Andraste for intercession.  “I’m going to regret asking.  I know I’m going to regret asking.”

“Bet you’re still gonna ask though.”

A sucker’s bet if he ever heard one.  “What does true love have to do with it?”

She smiled.  Cullen found it hard to look at her full in the face when she smiled.  Anyone could have called Minako stunning in that moment and perhaps meant it literally.

“You see,” she explained, “it turns out Lieutenant Harley has had something of a crush on that Corporal Martell for almost a year now.  They worked in the same Wizard Square—"

“Mage Circle.”

“Yeah, that.  Anyway, Harley never acted on it because fraternization is bad and rank is important, blah blah blah.  So I reminded Harley that there was a great big green hole in the sky, a fact I don’t think he truly appreciated until twenty minutes ago.  This convinced Harley it was high time to stop beating it off the bush.”

All the workers within earshot turned pink from the effort not to laugh.  One smashed his thumb with a hammer.  Cullen hoped she hadn’t meant to say that.  He suspected she did though and knew that he would never know for certain either way.

He found there was little he could say in response aside from, “Maker’s breath.”

She performed a perfectly executed curtsy, complete with a revoltingly Orlesian flourish of her hands.  “You’re welcome.”

“How did you even find out about this?”

She scoffed, “Please, the man was visibly pining.  The better question is how did you not notice and shove them in a closet ages ago.”

“It’s none of my business!  And certainly not yours.”

“So you knew about it and didn’t do anything?”

“I don’t make a habit out of prying into the love lives of the men and women in my command.”

“You really should.”

“Why?”

“It’s fun!”

Common sense suggested that a hangover would decrease as the day went by.  Minako managed to completely reverse the process by force of personality.  “You’re a bloody menace.”

“I prefer soldier of love and justice,” she corrected.

“Chaos and disruption more like.”

She shrugged as if to say, ‘same thing really,’ and well, she wasn’t wrong.

Cullen couldn’t be concerned about Harley and Martell.  He likely wouldn’t have even noticed without Minako’s intervention.  Harley would hear about abandoning his post once this increasingly strange conversation was done, but that was the extent to which Cullen would involve himself.

“I’m just going to assign you another escort.  Your third since you arrived in camp,” Cullen said.  “You must realize that of course.”

“I had an inkling,” Minako admitted.  “I haven’t been able to ditch Privy yet—“

“Privy?”

“It’s what I call the one your spymaster’s assigned to me that I’m not supposed to know about,” Minako explained, pale eyes glittering.  “I named them Privy.  It works on _so many levels_.”

It really did, and he had to forcibly suppress a groan as each one occurred to him.  “If you’re not supposed to know about this agent – whose existence I am neither confirming nor denying – how do you know you haven’t lost them?”

“Because Leliana hasn’t had me hobbled.”

Not an inaccurate assessment, that.

“I just don’t understand why you’re bothering,” he confessed.

“Honestly?  Martell was an accident.  I think it was the dick joke that pushed him over the edge.”

In point of fact, it was the fifth such joke that had pushed him over the edge, to say nothing of Minako’s forays into other anatomical areas.

“And with Travers,” she continued, naming the second of the escorts he’d assigned, “I needed to know how fast she could move in that heavy armor.  As it turns out, not very.”  She started to count off on her fingers.  “Well, that was what happened the first time.  The second time I ditched her while she lectured me about the first time.  The third time I saw this creepy little animal – like this fleshy rodent with little hands and teeth. I ran away from it.  I stand by that decision.”

Clearly, Leliana and Minako could never be allowed to discuss nugs unless the Iron Bull stood between them.  Perhaps not even then.  “And the other times?”

 She twinkled at him somehow.  "Guess."

"...for fun?"

She didn't twinkle anymore; she sparkled.  "Yup!"

“Of course," he grumbled.  “Foolish of me to ask.”

“But you’re so adorable when you’re being foolish,” she purred.  Actually purred.  He hadn’t realized a human being (or a walking, talking headache in plaidweave) could do that.

He decided it was best to ignore it altogether.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Excuse you.  Fleshy rodents.  With hands.  And.  Teeth.”  She made little scrabbling gestures in the air, then gave an exaggerated shudder.

“I meant that you didn’t have to see how fast a Templar could run in full armor,” he explained.

Minako tilted her head and regarded him with sudden, inexplicable fondness.  It sent him hurtling back towards childhood.

One day, the family dog (not a mabari, but sheep didn’t have much use for a war hound) had gotten stuck in a hedge.  He’d been blissfully happy about the turn of events.  His mother had given the animal that exact look.

“See, you’re being silly again.  I know I should be annoyed, how could anyone be mad at that face?”  She dropped her gaze.  “Or that—"

“The Herald gave you her word,” he interrupted, making a mental note of the builders who snickered just a bit too much at that comment.  An easy enough task given; all of them did.

Minako didn’t quite snort, but it was a near thing.  “First of all, she hates when anyone calls her that, and given that she’s freaking terrified of you for some reason, I’d lay off it if I was in your pants.”

“In my _what_?”

She plowed on as if she hadn’t heard him.  He was almost grateful for it.  “But really my issue is that I’m not counting on one woman being able to hold all of you together based on her say-so.  Maybe if she were actually in charge, but she’s not.  She’s your quasi-religious figurehead for a religion she doesn’t even believe in or something.  She’s not actually your boss.  As far as I can tell, you don’t have one.  I mean, there’s Cassandra, and she’d do in a pinch, but if she and Athehris ever disagreed on anything major, you’re going to have a problem.  Some people will listen to Cassandra – maybe just cause they’d be scared not to.  Good instincts there.  But some people are going to want to follow the quasi-religious figurehead.  Hello, power struggle!  Nice to meet you.  Or let’s not.

“You’re in charge of the troops, sure, and you’ve got their loyalty, but military is only one arm of the organization.  You can’t command the forces, be in charge of their training, deal with mercenary groups, oversee fortifications, and then do basically everything else.  Well, maybe you could because I’m not sure you actually sleep, but you shouldn’t.  And you should consider sleeping.  I heard a rumor its good for you.

“You can’t put Leliana in charge, obviously.  Spymasters can’t be figureheads.  Josephine can’t do it either.  She can’t spend her days making nice with nobility and then turn around and make decisions they’re going to hate.  She does her best work as a liaison, and Leliana does her best work from the shadows.

“That leaves Athehris.  She is in charge in a way, but not officially.  Also you haven’t told anyone that she’s in charge unofficially, least of all her.  So until that’s settled, I’m not holding my breath in case someone decides the… whatsit Dave called me – s _aarebas_ making everyone twitchy isn’t more trouble than she’s worth.  I don’t want to be beheaded.  Or stoned.  Well, I wouldn’t mind being stoned, but not _stoned_ , you know?  Do you stone people?  Witches used to be hanged or set on fire where I’m from, but that would mean building a gallows or a pyre.  Who has that kind of time?”

He stared, knowing it was imprudent if not necessarily impolite.  Her monologue had, in addition to demonstrating her lack of trust in their organization, been meant to unnerve him.  Possibly, her bravado was a bluff – that she didn’t know everything with certainty.  Unfortunately, she’d essentially nailed them all down with an unnerving accuracy.  She’d only missed Cassandra lack of desire for leading the Inquisition despite her obvious ability.  He had been in talks lately with Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra considering officially naming Athehris Inquisitor.  The group could very well splinter if not properly unified, and no one else suited, for all the reasons she’d named.

To say nothing of a decade filled with sleepless nights.

Cullen decided it then and there: Minako didn’t present a direct threat to the Inquisition.  She’d gathered enough intelligence to completely undermine them; that was worrying.  Then she’d gone and told him to his face.  That was also worrying, but in a differing way.  If she wanted to weaken them, all she needed to do was wait for the proper ear to whisper it into.  Furthermore, she knew that and wanted him to know that she knew it.

“You figured that out in three days?” he murmured.

“Oh, you rugged little dewdrop.  I figured that out before the coin toss.”

She hadn’t, but he questioned whether or not it had been much longer than that.  Then again, maybe it hadn’t crystalized for her until just before she said it.

“It occurs to me that in spite of all our precautions, we’ve rather underestimated you.”

Minako sighed mournfully.  “Sometimes I think Privy is the only one who really understands me.  But then I think, ‘No, Mina, you are as mysterious and unknowable as the bottom of the sea.  How cruel is fate that you shall can never truly be appreciated for your breathtaking insights into the human condition.’”

Cullen managed to keep his face wooden in the face of this new absurdity.

“And of course my dick jokes are revolutionary.”

His success was short-lived.

“Now don’t be like that, Commander Scrumptious.  I am a much needed ray of sunshine in your life.  Trust me on this.  But if it makes you feel any better, I won’t always be underfoot.  I’ve told Athehris I’ll go out and help with the whole grand heroic undertaking.”

Cullen started at the abrupt subject change.  “What, really?  Why would you do that?”

Minako pointed to the Breach.  He didn’t follow her gaze, preferring to stare into the middle distance.  Focusing on the twisting emerald maelstrom seemed to make the world spin away from him.  The first day it had appeared, rending the world open, he’d looked at it for too long and needed to lay on the ground for hours.  It had been the only way to feel anywhere approaching safe.

“Well, there’s the obvious but selfish reason: I want to go home.  I have no idea how I got here, but since your Fade Thingy seemed to do most of the heavy lifting, my friends might not be able to help me.  I have a hunch it’s a door that’ll only open on this side.  I doubt I’m going to stumble on another organization filled with wizards experts on glowing green weirdness.  Back-scratching all around.

“The less obvious not entirely selfish reason…. I have some experience in the area.”

He didn’t bother to disguise his incredulity.  “With holes in the sky?”

“Of apocalypses.  Plural.”  She exhaled, digging fists into her hips in annoyance.  “So many apocalypses.”

“I… forgive me Lad—Minako, but I find that very difficult to believe.”

“Because I’m a woman?” she asked, more confused than accusatory.

A lifetime of terrifyingly competent women had taught him better than that.  Mia had only been the first of many.  “Maker, no!  Because of your age.”

She let out yet another laugh, but this one was different.  It trembled in the air like a glass on its way to falling, to breaking.  She closed her mouth with an audible snap.  He pictured a cup being snatched out of the air, spared the impact but splintering in the grip.

“Well, for one thing, I’m older than I look.  But even if I wasn’t…. Even if I wasn’t, I’ve been fighting monsters since I was thirteen, and I’ve been leading soldiers since I was fourteen.  I’ve helped save the world, my world, going on… ten times, give or take.  There’ve been brainwashing flowers, a ludicrous number of lunatic queens, and an endless winter.  Through time and in nightmares and at the ends of the earth.”  She paused.  “Plus I’ve died twice.”

He had no idea what to say to any of that.  He’d dwell on the implications later, much later.  It was too much all at once and would have been even without the hangover.  But he did think he could blame the hangover for blurting, “Is dying really a good endorsement?”

Before he could stammer out the inevitable apology, her face split into that same stunning smile.  “I came back, didn’t I?”

Then she sauntered off, the dizzying conversation at an end.  He wondered if he didn’t need to go lie down on the ground for an hour or so.

Cullen felt as if he’d somehow managed to gleam too much and too little all at once.  He’d seen more facets of that whirling dervish personality, and while it hinted at those fathomless depths she’d jokingly referenced, it still felt shallow.  He didn’t know anything about her that she didn’t want him to know.  Of course, that wasn’t what he was good at.  Leave the double speak to Orlesians.  Put it like that, and he wondered if maybe the conversational frontal assault wasn’t a refreshing tactic.  Perhaps it would seem so in retrospect.

The next age perhaps.

Once he finished his intended business at the trebuchets, he would drag Martell and Harley somewhere for a good dressing down.  Amusingly, he would maybe have to wait until they’d finished dressing at all.  Then he would find another guard to follow her footsteps.  He didn’t know yet who he’d chose, though he resolved that it would not be Rylen.  Then there were a thousand other things to do before he would be tired enough to face his bed and bad dreams.

And in the unforgiving dark, he would not think of a thirteen year old boy being handed a good luck charm while in another world, a thirteen year old girl faced down a monster.  He would not think of assuming the burdens of command with his voice barely broken.  He would not think of her having died, which he doubted but could not entirely disbelieve, and he would not think of how young or old she would have been.  He would not think of her at all.

That would have been a very dangerous thing indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to materialize! I fought with this bloody thing for MONTHS, and I'm finally somewhat satisfied with it, so up it goes.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has shown any interest in this weird little universe! You are all rugged little dewdrops.


End file.
